


I Know You Want to Slip Under My Armor

by ken_ichijouji (dommific)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Background Victor Nikiforov/Katsuki Yuuri - Freeform, F/M, Get Together, Gratuitous Fushigi Yuugi Cameo, His Royal Highness Victor "This Bitchivich" Nikiforov, Magic, Modern Royalty, Non-Explicit Sex, Outdoor Sex, Royal Wedding, Spot the Pun Win a Prize, The Outfits are Meaningful Also, The Tanabata Agenda, fashion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 02:02:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14966726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji
Summary: Georgi has been nursing a broken heart for a long time now, but the fervor over Crown Prince Victor's wedding has been a welcome distraction. When the Prince's bodyguard needs a few alterations on her gown for the event, Georgi is happy to oblige.It's not just Mila's hemline that gets raised, though --- it might be Georgi's heart as well as his spirits.





	I Know You Want to Slip Under My Armor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saniika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saniika/gifts).



Being the tailor to the Crown Prince is a trial at the best of times, but his pickiness regarding this particular garment has been, for lack of a more elegant phrasing, _out of control_.

Crown Prince Victor, heir to the Kingdom of Morozhenoye, is to be wed in a fortnight. His betrothed is the male heir of the Kogane Kingdom’s Royal Family.  Prince Victor fell in love with his chosen groom more or less instantly, and thus nothing less than perfection will do.

Georgi holds a set of pins in-between his teeth, watching his Highness assess his wedding vestments. Moonlight and star-shine have been woven into his cape, which is fur-lined across his shoulders in a deep black. The rest of the garment transforms into a sheer violet like the late evening sky during the White Nights. Aubergine and incarnadine accents add a dash of color to his blazer, shirt, and slacks with crimson gemstones, in a similar pattern that embellished the Kogane Prince’s engagement banquet ensemble. A shard of the sun itself is fashioned to a chain around Prince Victor’s waist, glimmering golden like his intended’s kingdom.

Prince Victor rubs his hand down his face. “I just don’t know — “

This suit has taken a thousand hours of sewing, measuring, pattern-drafting, and spell crafting.

Georgi sighs. Viscount Christophe, the Prince’s advisor and close companion, raises an eyebrow. “Your prince will think you by far the most handsome man in the realms, Vitya. Though I suspect he already does even when you’re freshly woken and in a ratty dressing gown.”

“You think so, really?” Victor asks. “Maybe the white ermine and blue concept was best…”

From behind them, a bright chuckle is quickly disguised as a cough. Lyudmilla Babicheva is known as the Prince’s Own, his chief guard and protector. Everyone in the inner circle calls her simply Mila, and while she is typically bright and sunny with hair like January embers and eyes like the pools belonging to the Merry Gentry, she cuts a fearsome figure when the Kingdom is under threat.

Georgi is a little lost looking at her, the sparkle in her eyes like the Prince’s magical signature, and he shakes himself out of it to give his liege his attention.

“Perhaps that vibrant rose,” Prince Victor continues. “With the gold.”

Georgi sighs again. Magic can craft the new outfit in time, but sourcing the dew drops and sunbeams would prove quite difficult as it still is too close to the longer, darker winters than the White Nights.

“Though I match his engagement suit,” Prince Victor says. “Do you think he’ll notice?” His voice is puppyish and soft, wavering with the smallest insecurity. He’s asking neither Christophe nor Mila; Georgi is his only audience here.

“I do believe he will not only notice, but be further besotted with your Highness,” Georgi answers.

“He’s right,” Mila agrees. “Prince Yuuri is quite taken with you. Should you walk down the aisle in rags, he could not possibly be happier.”

Prince Victor admires himself again, spinning in a circle and looking over his shoulder before he remembers he can simply levitate two mirrors for such a purpose. He sees his ensemble from all angles, examining the cut of the trousers across the royal  _ derriere _ .

“The color is becoming,” the Prince admits after a beat.

“Elegant and flattering, Vitya,” Christophe adds.

“Alright!” he says with a beaming, heart-shaped smile. “It’s glorious, thank you, Georgi! I’ll be certain to have a token bestowed upon you as a show of gratitude.”

Georgi smiles and nods as he enters a deep bow. “The honor and pleasure is mine, Your Grace. I simply gave it my best efforts, and I am humbled you find them satisfactory.”

He’s grabbed in a crushing hug before being swung around in a circle five times. Georgi swoons when his feet return to the ground, and Prince Victor hits him on the back hard with a boisterous cheer. This is more like the royal heir Georgi grew up with, and he smiles back with a touch of self-deprecation.

Once he steps behind a screen to change back into his red and white daily attire, Georgi sets down his shears and takes off the pincushion gauntlets. Mila stands within a couple of feet, though Georgi faces the table and his atelier’s floor-to-ceiling windows, while she has her back to the view of the Palace Gardens. Her crimson jacket has been opened, displaying a low-scoop necked black t-shirt that glimmers with protective enchantments. “He’s so fussy,” she says with half of a smile.

“He’s in love and nervous,” Georgi offers as an excuse.

Once upon a time he was in love as well, until the newly-minted Lady Anya chose to marry up, rending all their long nights and whispered words of love into scraps. The magical portraits for her engagement were in the news until Prince Victor stole their thunder, to Georgi’s eternal relief.

Mila huffs a laugh as she gives Georgi a smile. “Gosha, I know we’re short on time before the big day, but could you spare a few hours to help me with my gown for the occasion? The hem is a tragedy and I’m sure you can fix it quite easily.”

Georgi nods. “Sure, bring it by the atelier next time you have a couple of hours free. I’ll inspect it and see what we can do.”

Mila’s smile brightens. “Thank you, Gosha.” She pats his cheek as she follows the prince at her normal three pace distance, and Georgi watches the sway of her hips far longer than he should.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, Mila carries in a garment bag carefully draped over her left arm with a pair of heels in her right. The shoes are iridescent with shimmering bits of the sky at dusk beaded to them like pearls.

“Good,” Georgi says. “That’ll make measuring the hem easier.” 

Mila smiles, carrying the garment behind a triple-screen in the corner of the atelier. Her jacket is hung over the top of the screen, quickly followed by her trousers. The boots are set by the left side. “I assumed it would be more prudent that way,” she answers after a beat. 

Georgi magics his pin cushion to his wrist with a glimmering piece of chalk in his free hand. After another six minutes or so, Mila steps out from the screen, and Georgi’s mind slows as though he is the victim of sleeping spell for the next century.

The gown is the sea itself, an ancient water magic converted into shimmering turquoise fabric like the shallows of a pink sand beach. Pearls, shells, night-blooming flowers with a touch of magic glow, and enchanted bits of shells adorn the gown from the top of its straps down to the floor, which in her matching heels is exactly an inch too long.

The decorations will require delicate care when he adjusts the hemline. Sewing will not do this time — he has no choice but to use a spell. 

The gown has a backline that drops so low it is borderline indecent. She looks like a mermaid made human, walking for the first time from her sea-home to the human she loves. Botticelli’s Venus made flesh, a living specimen of perfection just high enough above him he cannot touch. 

After shaking his head a few times to clear it, Georgi gets down on one knee and pins several spots at the right height, careful to not damage the delicate fabric.

Mila watches the mirror. “It’s kind of nice that I get to actually have fun this time.”

Georgi makes a non-committal sound as he moves to her right.

“I don’t hate the job or anything,” Mila continues. “It’s just nice to relax on occasion.”

Georgi gestures, eyes glued to the illuminated sea mist of her shoes, and Mila follows his instructions. He pins the hem in perfect alignment with the back and sides, and it hits the floor the way it should, pooling around her feet like foam. “How is this?”

“Really good,” Mila answers with a bit of huskiness in her voice. “Just right.”

Georgi finishes his work before looking up with a smile. Her answering expression is fond, soft, and perhaps a little too hot for their current situation. He clears his throat and finishes the necessary work. “This should be it,” he says.

She’s taller than him on the center podium and in her heels, and her eyes are the sea and the windswept morning sky once the golden dawn is clear, the gown draping her form as though she’s carved from a magic stone, bedecked like the perfect Galatea.  

“Wow,” Mila begins as she faces away from him. Though her hair is only to her elegant, freckled shoulders, she glances in a non-verbal request for aid with the low zipper.

Georgi follows instructions well, always has, so he is careful to undo her vestments. The urge to kiss her nape is strong, but he refrains as she favors him with a smile like the purest moonglow.. “Perfect now,” he manages.

Mila’s voice turns languid. “Not just now,” she replies.

The blue sky fades to a deep orange, and the Postgleam fills floating, rainbow quartz-like gasoliers throughout the palace rooms; it’s a warm, amber enchantment that illuminates Morozhenoye within buildings after dusk. Similar lamps line the streets and float above the maze-like grounds of the palace bathing the darkening air with incandescence. When the night fully darkens, the Postgleam shifts into the twinkling of stars, heavenly bodies providing illumination to any erstwhile wanderers as most of their brethren slumber.

Mila’s hair glows in the light like a fireplace painted on silk, and Georgi’s hand twitches before he remembers himself, coming so close to breaching propriety and entwining his fingers in the chin-length strands. Her eyes remind him of the moonlight reflected in the evening high tide, and when Mila does not break his stare, he makes the choice for them both.

Georgi averts his gaze with a clear of his throat, like flowers have grown inside his lungs to choke away his sadness. “That should be everything.”

Mila’s facial expression is somewhere between cross and understanding. “Gosha.”

While setting the pin cushion on his drafting table, Georgi gives her a questioning look.

“Irons can cool rather rapidly,” Mila says. “Best to strike while they’re hot, don’t you think?”

It’s a non sequitur, this cliche she’s chosen to employ. “Good night, Mila.”

Mila’s mouth twists as she changes and takes her leave. She pauses at the doorway with a look full of disappointed scrutiny before she exits. The polished, cherry door closes with a small echo, and Georgi conjures a dram of Eventide, sipping on two fingers of the magical liquor.

Is he ready? Will he ever be?

Georgi chugs his drink the second time instead of sipping, lost in a vision of eyes like tide pools.

Maybe being ready isn’t a good enough reason to put things off. Maybe readiness is an illusion, an excuse to play it safe. Maybe readiness is the hard shell of a hermit crab that he retreats to when the slightest movement filters to the edge of his vision.

He shoots a second glass. The nuptials are soon, and the party will last for days.

Maybe it wasn’t  _ really _ a non sequitur.

 

* * *

 

The ceremony was mostly completed without a hitch as Prince Victor was so floored by Prince Yuuri’s beauty in blue and silver he almost fell during his procession to the altar. As though the vows they swore to one another were a festival of their own, when they exchanged glimmering gold bands on each right ring finger sparks showered the well-wishers as well as their families in shades of gold, blue, and magenta. Illusions of magpies flew around them, leaving behind trails of miniature, earthbound stars shaped like the Heart and Soul Nebulas.

The officiant had to clear her throat five times for them to stop kissing, but what else would become of young lovers?

The grand ball is to begin after the Prince and Prince-Consort take a lengthy goodwill ride on a carefully planned parade route. They sit together on the back of a shimmering, azure flying dragon that Prince-Consort Yuuri affectionately calls Seiryu with several strokes to its flank before they lift off to greet their subjects. Prince Victor looks like he has ascended to heaven with his arms around his new husband’s back, but when Georgi looks more carefully, Prince-Consort Yuuri has a pretty, pleased flush that matches the accents in his husband’s wedding vestments.

A grand ball and festival will begin upon their return, and the crème de la crème from House Katsuki begin to joyously mingle with those of House Nikiforov. Prince-Consort Yuuri’s trusted confidante, a man in scarlet and gold who insists he be called Phichit (as opposed to the more formal Sovereign Chulanont) offers Christophe a tour of the Kogane palace hot springs when next he visits the realm. Prince-Consort Yuuri’s lifelong mentor is an old friend of one of Prince Victor’s and the two ladies grow less elegant and more bawdy with every sip of mead.

Mila converses with guests of both families, including the twin heirs to the Duchy d’Oro, and Georgi’s eyes fix on hers until she notices. When she does, she offers him a subtle, serene smile, and after the Crispinos step away to converse with others, Georgi comes to her with two matching crystal tumblers of Eventide. He raises his glass to her, she returns the gesture in a silent toast, and they drink.

“What was that to?” Mila asks when she swallows.

Georgi shrugs his left shoulder. The fabric of his wedding finery is velvet woven from the evening dusk itself accented by the purple and indigo of the sky from between the Golden Hour and pitch black. “To chances, beginnings, and love itself.”

“A worthy toast, indeed,” Mila offers. She taps her liquor against his this time, and when they finish, a lively guitar begins. The Prince-Consort is an accomplished dancer, and this particular piece had an impact on his theft of the Crown Prince’s heart. In fact, their parade has ended, and they stand in the center of the ballroom surrounded by mirrors and more illusory, glimmering magpies as they take the crowd by storm.

Mila watches with an eyebrow raised and a luminous smile on her face. Georgi swallows the thorns in his lungs, subtly wipes the sweat off his palms. “Would you like to go to the gardens for some air?”

“Sounds lovely,” she says. The Postgleam gasoliers light their way, a pair every yard down the path they follow. They illuminate as they pass, and he leads her to a bridge carved from ice that is bewitched to never melt even in the hottest summer months. The Kogane royal entourage have brought fireflies from their home city, a special breed that glow pale peach and light aqua instead of a more common golden yellow.

Mila overlooks the babbling brook the bridge crosses, and in the creatures’ light she’s radiant, soft. Georgi doesn’t understand his fear, doesn’t understand letting the pain of Anya’s dismissal linger for so long.

He doesn’t wait any longer and brushes her hair off her face, turning air and the slight fog into a shimmering white bone comb bedecked with pearls and indicolite tourmaline to match her eyes and gown.  Before he can ask, she leans up and kisses him.

The Rabbit in the Moon bears their only witness as months of loneliness give way to the excited, anxious passion of a new love. The noise is minimal — nightingales in the distance, an errant bullfrog nearby, fabric falling to the ground, and two hearts becoming as one for the first time. Her skin reflects pale yellow and white as she moves sinuously above him. Her smile is leonine and her satisfied moans throaty as she achieves completion, Georgi following behind her with her name uttered like an ancient incantation.

The fireflies gleam above them, twinkling in pink and blue, and Mila leans down to capture his lips in a kiss that feels like rose petals and joy. It is quiet yet thunderous, a new start in every possible way.

And when a year later there is a second court wedding, less grand than the Crown Prince’s but no less full of jubilant love, Georgi lifts his bride’s veil to kiss their union into being with happy tears.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd apologize for the 80000000 puns, jokes, call backs, shout outs, etc in this but we all know lying is a sin.
> 
> The title comes from Halsey's "Alone." Which I cannot stop listening to when I'm not repeating Demi's "Tell Me You Love Me."
> 
> I want you all to name what jokes/references you catch! There's a LOT. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun on the world building in this! It was super fun. I got the idea of the magical quartz lighting from a lamp I saw on All Modern and an excerpt Auri shared on Discord with an hour of Falselight from "Lies of Locke Lamora."


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